


When Demons Come Out To Play

by Bookworm445



Series: Haikyuu!! OT3+ Week [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, As in this entire work is mainly just 4 huge flashbacks, Demon AU, Demon!Hanamaki, Demon!Iwaizumi, Demon!Matsukawa, Demon!Oikawa, Does this count as magic realism?, Flashbacks, I'll tag it anyway, Immortality, Magical Realism, Multi, Remembering Stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookworm445/pseuds/Bookworm445
Summary: Day 5 of Haikyuu!! OT3+ Week (Childhood | Adulthood | Teachers)From children to teens and then to adults - the story of Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro.





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki's turn to remember stuff.

Child. Teen. Adult. They had been all of these things, once. Not anymore, of course, but it was nice to reminisce. Hanamaki Takahiro never used to reminisce. He found it unappealing, irritating, unnecessary. But Oikawa had been oddly clingy lately and when Hanamaki had asked why Oikawa had mentioned that it was nearing the anniversary of their 10,000th year as Demons. It seems that that one insignificant comment was enough to set off a chain reaction, and so here Hanamaki was, reminiscing about his days as a human. Remembering was actually a better word — reminiscing implied that he was thinking of better days. He didn’t think of his life as a human as ‘better days’ and so, therefore, Hanamaki was not reminiscing. He was remembering. Not that he wanted to.

 

“Makki!” A voice called out from behind him. Hanamaki turned, smiled and waved.

“Mattsun!” Hanamaki replied, jumping at his friend.

“Guess what! I got into the same school as you!” Mattsun screeched, jumping up and down, still holding Hanamaki. Hanamaki legitimately yelped when it registered — Mattsun was, _is,_ his best friend. Going to the same school was a dream come true. For both of them. And so both boys jumped up and down in typical child-like excitement, both ever so ready for the start of the school year.

 

Okay, so Hanamaki hadn’t been prepared for the hell that was the school year. He was 10 years old and his father had come home drunk for the first time. Not that his father being drunk was unusual, but he wasn’t normally this drunk. As in, Hanamaki could smell the liquor on his breath — on his body — from across the room, he was slurring his words, and he was yelling at Hanamaki’s mother. It was loud. Hanamaki wished Mattsun was with him, but he also didn’t. Hanamaki didn’t want Mattsun to see this — he wouldn’t like it. He’d probably get really upset and that would make Hanamaki cry because he didn’t like seeing Mattsun upset. So he hid and wished. Hoped his mother would be okay, hoped Mattsun never had to see this, hoped his father would calm down.

 

That was the first time. But it was nowhere near the last. Multiple times that year, Hanamaki’s father had come home drunk. His mother always hid him, took the brunt of the attacks herself. Hanamaki had always regretted hiding. He always went to school with a perfect face — no bruises, no broken nose — he never had to deal with the injuries his mother did. That did, of course, mean that no-one at school questioned him on injuries, which Hanamaki supposed was a good thing. His mother thought it was a good think — the first thing she’d told him when he got up from school the morning after that horrible first night was;

“Hide any injuries you get, Takahiro. I’ll do as much as I can for you, but if he hurts you, hide it at school. We can’t have questions — you know what he’ll do to us.”

 

School was always a blur and the nights always dragged on, never-ending, full of fear and his mother’s screams. Hanamaki got used to it, eventually, until at 11 his father finally found him. The next morning he borrowed his mother’s makeup for the first time, to cover the purple bruise spreading across his cheekbone.

 

No-one noticed, not for years. Hanamaki Takahiro got through childhood without anyone questioning him, just as his mother had told him. It was too bad the beatings only got worse.


End file.
